


Wicked Grace

by kisssanitygoodbye, moodymarshmallow



Series: Like Attracts Like [8]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 10:50:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisssanitygoodbye/pseuds/kisssanitygoodbye, https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On this particular Wicked Grace night, Fabian wins more than just a game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked Grace

**Author's Note:**

> Written by kisssanitygoodbye

The air in the taproom is heavy with smoke and the smell of ale, and Fabian already knows that his eyes will start to water before the end of the evening.

He doesn’t have time to worry about that, though, because the smile on Varric’s face is dangerous, especially considering the number of coins currently in the middle of the table, coins Fabian might lose soon.

“Think you’ll win, dwarf?” Fenris’ smoky voice cuts through the air like a knife, and he lifts an eyebrow, trying not to show anyone his cards as he turns his head to look at Varric, who is still grinning.

“Too soon to say, elf,” Varric says, putting another card on the table.

Fabian seizes the moment of light-hearted banter to avert his eyes from the table and let them wander to the elf beside him, who is looking at his cards with a frown on his face, and Fabian wants to reach over and smooth it out.

Theron notices the gaze on him, and he looks up with a quiet smile. His cheeks are light pink, a sign that he’s comfortably drunk by now, and his eyes are slightly glassy, making them seem even bigger than they are.

“Doing okay?” Fabian asks, resisting the urge to look at Theron’s cards; just because it’s his first time actually playing Wicked Grace instead of just silently watching doesn’t mean he desperately needs help.

“I think so.” As usual, Theron’s voice is low-pitched and quiet, but Fabian has learned to drown out all the background noises and only pay attention to him.

Fabian takes his cards into one hand and lets the other sink under the table, where it comes to rest on Theron’s thigh. He’d like to wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him close, but he knows that Theron gets uncomfortable whenever he shows his affection in public, so he settles for gentle caresses that will go unnoticed.

“But that is not really helping me concentrate, Hawke.”

Fabian grins, letting his hand trail just a little higher before sliding inwards, and he chuckles when Theron’s breath hitches in his throat.

“Fabian, I mean it. Stop that.”

“Then stop being so fucking gorgeous.”

Fenris and Varric have ended their argument over whether Varric is bluffing or not and are now looking at them instead, so Theron only gives a quiet huff without any genuine annoyance behind it and goes back to looking at his cards.

Sadly, Fabian needs both hands to play Wicked Grace, so he grudgingly lifts the other one and thinks for a moment before taking a card from the stack and putting another one away, and he tries not to smile when he realises that his current hand is, well, pretty damn good.

Fabian watches Fenris make his move, and when Varric reaches out and looks at his card, he groans.

“By the ancestors, not now!” He lays it on the table, and sure enough, it’s the Angel of Death. “Alright, let me see your cards, boys.”

Varric begins, putting his cards down, and Fenris snorts.

“I knew you were bluffing.”

Varric ignores the remark, his attention focused on Theron, who is frowning again as he lowers his hand. Two pairs.

Fenris has nothing, for once, and Fabian grins again as he leans closer to Theron, his hand going back to Theron’s thigh.

“Not bad,” he says, fingers moving in small circles. “But…”, and he grins at the other two, “Not as good as a Full House.”

He throws his cards onto the table and grabs the coins, quickly shoving them into his pocket. “Thank you for the kind donations, Serrahs. They are appreciated.”

Varric clicks his tongue. “Well, looks like Hawke is having a lucky streak tonight.”

Fabian wants to say something, but suddenly there’s a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down, and as soon as he turns his head Theron’s lips are on his, soft and warm and pliant, and he can’t suppress the quiet groan that steals its way out of his throat and into Theron’s mouth.

There’s a loud whistle coming from the bar that can only be Isabela, and Theron pulls away, smiling and blushing, and Fabian would like nothing more than for Theron to get into his lap and kiss him again, but he knows that that is for later, when they are alone at the estate without anyone watching.

So he only smiles, taking Theron’s hand under the table and stroking his thumb, and when he speaks, he’s not looking at Varric but the elf beside him. “Looks like it.”


End file.
